


Letters to No One

by FlyingLuna, longlost10



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, Gen, Hermione Granger (Mentioned) - Freeform, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Unnamed Canon Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingLuna/pseuds/FlyingLuna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/longlost10/pseuds/longlost10
Summary: His 5th year at Hogwarts left Harry Potter broken. After the summer by himself stuck with the Dursleys watching the Wizarding World slowly descend into madness, Harry returned to Hogwarts carrying an invisible, massive weight. After being called out on it, Harry decides to write some thoughts down. He never imagined he would get a response.





	1. Week One

The grief was slowly becoming too much. Over the summer, Harry had allowed himself to forget that the battle at the Ministry of Magic had ever happened. In his few short weeks at the Dursleys and the remainder of the summer at the Burrow, Harry had kept himself so busy that he didn't even have time to think of the true reason that Sirius had not written. He convinced himself that he wasn't receiving letters from Sirius because the Dursleys weren't permitting it or Dumbledore told him not to write or maybe Sirius was just very busy. When he returned to Hogwarts, things would go back to normal.

Perhaps that was the root of the problem: when Harry finally returned to Hogwarts, he came home. At home, there was a pattern to things, and he felt for the first time the true pangs of loss.

It had started gradually, and if Harry were honest with himself, it the grief had only been festering since the moment he watched Sirius fall through the veil. 

On his first full day back to Hogwarts, Harry wanted nothing more than to send Sirius a letter detailing his altercation with Draco Malfoy on the train. He wanted to tell his godfather of his suspicions about Malfoy’s visit to Borgin & Burkes. He wanted to tell Sirius about the detention he got, the strange book he found in Potions, and somehow managing to win the prized Felix Felicis. It wasn't until Harry had put quill to parchment that night, his hand scrawling an untidy _Dear Snuffles_ , that he froze. If anyone asked, Harry would be able to tell them with complete certainty that this was the precise moment in which it finally hit him. 

Snuffles. _Sirius._

Harry had lost many things in his life - his parents, his childhood, Cedric - but he had never been given the proper opportunity to _grieve_. 

After the first sob escaped his lips, Harry threw up a Silencing Charm around his bed with a flick of his wand. He drew the curtains a second later once he was certain that none of his dorm mates had woken up at the cry.

He had mourned Cedric in his own way. Guilt, nightmares - it had been nearly unbearable at the time, but somehow, this was worse. This guilt felt like a monster sitting on his chest. This sadness was slowly sucking all of the air out of his lungs. Harry felt more trapped in his mind than he ever had in the cupboard under the stairs.

He screamed, palms flying to his face and pressing against his eyes in an effort to block out the thoughts, blocked out the damn feelings that he wished he couldn't feel at all.

The parchment was back in his hands again, his fingers crinkling its yellowed surface as he stared at those two little words:

_Dear Snuffles._

Anger coursed through him. He was angry at Voldemort, at Bellatrix, at Dumbledore - mostly, though, he was angry at himself for getting another person killed.

Harry let out an inhuman screech as he tore the parchment in two, then shredding each half into small slivers until _Dear Snuffles_ was nothing more than specks of black ink on pieces of confetti. A jab of his wand and a snarled, “Incendio,” lit the pile of parchment into a smoldering mess.

Only then did Harry let his tears fall.

Hermione immediately sensed Harry's emotional turmoil the next morning. “You look exhausted,” she said bluntly as Harry sat down at the bench across from her. 

“Do I?” he muttered tersely. 

“It's Sirius, isn't it?” she murmured, reaching a hand across the table to rest on Harry's arm. He flinched away, instantly feeling regret at the hurt that flashed across Hermione’s face.

_I hurt everyone around me, don't I?_ Harry said to himself. 

“I'm here if you'd like to talk, Harry,” Hermione offered quietly. “Or better yet, I imagine Madame Pomfrey-”

“I don't need a bloody Healer, Hermione.”

“I imagine she's trained for things like this, though,” Hermione pressed.

“I don't need a Healer,” Harry said once more, gritting his teeth against saying anything more that could possibly hurt his best friend.

“Then maybe journaling?” she suggested. “That's something that doctors and therapists advocate for in the Muggle world. Would you consider that at least?”

“I can deal with this on my own, thank you.” As Harry surveyed the spread of food on the long table, he realized that he would be able to eat none of it. _Sirius_ , Harry's mind reminded him as his stomach gave a particularly violent lurch. Ignoring the food, Harry reached for a goblet of pumpkin juice. He tried to ignore Hermione’s pleading looks, but it was immensely difficult. His saving grace came in the form of Ron, who finally showed up to breakfast half-asleep. Hermione turned her attention to him, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. 

Hermione’s worried glances were driving Harry crazy. When everyone had returned to the Gryffindor Common Room after dinner that evening, Harry managed to get away by slipping on his father’s cloak and stepping through the portrait hole. He had no particular destination in mind, but somehow he ended up on the seventh floor, his footsteps taking him back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement until a single wooden door appeared.

Inside, the room had transformed into a small study. A roaring fireplace cast a warm light around the room, giving it a welcoming feel. With a relieved sigh, Harry sat down in the single red armchair.

“I'm so sorry, Sirius,” he murmured to no one, his despair and anguish once again welling up inside him. “I don't know how to deal with this.”

Unbidden, Hermione's words from this morning returned to him. “Maybe she's right,” Harry said to himself. “Journaling. Maybe…”

As if hearing his words, the Room provided a table in front of him, a small brown journal and a Muggle pen appearing on top of it. “Journaling. Just like a girl...hope it doesn't talk back,” Harry continued muttering, remembering the last magical journal to appear in his life. 

The Room apparently decided that Harry was right and journals weren't exactly trustworthy. Without a sound, the book was replaced instead by a pile of parchment. Harry distractedly rifled through the stack, idly wondering what he was expected to do with a pile of blank parchment. A second later, a book entitled _Letter Writing for the Wizard Soul_ also appeared on the table.

Resigning himself to the Room’s meddling, Harry picked up the pen and held it thoughtfully above the top of the parchment. He unconsciously began to write _Dear Siri_ before stopping himself short once more.

Sirius.

He could write him a letter, a _hundred_ letters, but he would never get a reply.

Harry let out a harsh sigh, crumpling the parchment in front of him. “How do I write a letter to no one?” he muttered in frustration. Being the brave Gryffindor that he was, though, Harry tossed the ball of parchment into the fireplace and set pen to paper once more.   
_  
Dear No One,_

_I've never written a letter that I wasn't going to send. It seems like wasted effort, but she thinks writing will help me. She suggested journaling, but I'm not a lovesick witch crying over Celestina Warbeck songs on the radio. Journaling is definitely not the way for me to go._

_How does one even begin a letter that no one will ever read? It's fairly useless to ask how you are; there is no “you,” after all - unless the Room can read, in which case… I suppose I shouldn't put anything past Hogwarts, though. This is the school with moving staircases and vanishing steps and murderous professors, after all._

_I suppose I'm writing because I have no one else to turn to. Nobody understands what I'm going through. How can other people understand the pressures that I'm under? How can others understand what I'm feeling? How do I tell people that in my head, I feel like I'm being dragged into the Black Lake by a grindylow and I can't even breathe? I have so much going on in my head that I can't focus, I can't think, I can't-_

_I miss you, Snuffles. That's what this all comes down to. I messed up. I ran head first into danger without thinking, and now you're the one that's paid the price. It's my own fault that I feel like this now. I feel utterly shattered. I wanted to be with you. You were my chance for a home, and I blew it. I thought I could be normal for once, but I guess they were right. I guess I'm just a freak._

_If anything, I think writing this has made me feel worse. Stupid Muggle journaling ideas._

_Even if someone did find this, it would hardly matter. How could anyone understand what a nobody like me is going through?_

_I guess that's me, then. Nobody._

__Harry folded the parchment into thirds. The Room provided a stick of emerald wax and a seal, which Harry melted onto the parchment to lock away his words. “I don't care what Hermione said. No one is going to read this anyways,” Harry muttered. He tossed the folded letter in the direction of the fireplace as he turned to leave.

He never saw the letter flutter back to the desk and settle onto the wooden surface as if waiting for someone.

* * *

__

_Dear Nobody,_

_I found your letter. Guess it didn’t go unread after all, did it?_

_My father always told me to be wary of things that talk back. Especially things you can’t see where they have their brain. But at this point, talking to a letter wouldn’t be the first time I let him down. He’s gone because of me. Even if it wasn’t, you know that’s what he’d say. I’m sure my family resents me for it. People say they see him whenever they look at me but whenever I look into the mirror…_

_But I have a new task now. One that’d redeem myself in my father’s eyes, and everyone else who became ashamed of him in the process. I’ll be better than my father ever was. I’ll take my place with the mighty wizards who came before me._

_Assuming I get everything in order._

_That’s what it all comes down to though. I’ve got to get everything in order. I’m not foolish enough to ask for help. I’ve been given this task and I’ll do it alone. I’ll probably have to start doing more research soon to figure out the spells. I’m good but I don’t know everything… not that you heard that from me._

_I can do this._

_They’ll kill me if I don’t.  
Probably. _

_Either way. I don’t want to find out._

_Until I figure things out, I’ll keep swimming in the Black Lake and keep trying to stun the grindylows, if you don’t mind me stealing your metaphor. Or is it analogy? Doesn’t matter. Just have to take one day at a time and keep your eyes on the prize._

_Father always told me that- always keep your goal in mind and you’ll find success._

_Not to mention the fact that the school year has just started. A lot has happened over the summer. It’s not even mid-term yet. Lots of time left to get stuff done._

_I think writing all this down has started stressing me out a little. Putting it all down on paper… it makes the task ahead seem both completely doable and insurmountable. Almost like writing the task of a History of Magic essay in a scheduler._

_So I agree._

_Stupid Muggle journaling idea._

_Speaking of History of Magic. I have Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon and should probably make an appearance. It’s not as easy to blow off that class as it used to be._

_\- No One  
_


	2. Week Two

Dear No One,

I admit to being a bit surprised at finding an answer to my letter. I mean, I burned the thing. At least I think I did. Damn magical castle. I don't know if I should be happy to find an answer to my letter or not. I sincerely hope that you have a brain outside your quill and parchment and that you're not some kind of magical answering service. I've had enough of those for a lifetime. 

It sounds like you've gotten someone killed as well - do you feel the guilt, too? How can you live with yourself? I'm getting through the days on willpower and pumpkin juice alone. I fear that I am running a bit low on willpower, though. 

Your task - it seems like a bit too much for a student. Or are you a professor? I suppose you must be a student. You mentioned going to classes, after all. That's a lot of pressure for a kid. I should know. 

About your father. People always tell me I look like my father and expect me to act like him. I don't even know him; I just want to be me, but nobody seems to understand that.

Your relationship with your father sounds complicated. He sounds wise, and it seems like he has given you some good advice, but you also say you want to be better than he was. Is that resentment? Or do you just want to be your own person? If it's the latter, I can sympathize. 

My mentor has started private training with me. It's not exactly what I thought it would be. He's mostly giving me a history lesson, but I don't see how that will help me with my task. 

You seem the type to value self-preservation. I'm in a situation of kill or be killed, and I don't want to die. 

Merlin, I'm going through so much right now and I just wish it would end, but at the same time, I'm terrified to die. It seems like that's the only solution for me, though. We were all born to die - I think I was just born to die a bit sooner than everyone else. 

I'm not quite sure how the magic in the Room is working. By all rights, my letter should have been incinerated, but somehow it got to you. I apologize if I'm a bit late returning your letter. I have no idea when you wrote yours, but mine was written a week and a half ago on the first day of classes. This is the Room, though. Like I said, I have no idea how my letter appeared to you or why yours appeared to me. Are the letters being moved through space or time? 

Do I know you? 

Perhaps you shouldn't answer that, and I really shouldn't have asked. It seems like we both have some pressing issues at the moment. Maybe it would be better if we just...wrote, I suppose. 

I guess I will be awaiting your reply. 

-Nobody.

* * *

Nobody,

I’ll admit, initially there was guilt. My mother always said it was a human trait to feel. But my father disagrees. He is more of the mindset that if you take an action, you are to follow through and have no regrets. I lean more towards his school of thought.

Drink your pumpkin juice. There’s no time to feel sorry for past actions- not that you should feel sorry to begin with. We live in the now, do we not? Keep moving forwards.

Professors attend classes, yeah? Not that I’m claiming to be either a student or a Professor. I hope you respect this, but I prefer to stay anonymous. Obviously. I don’t sign the letters. But I do have a lot of House pride, if that counts for anything. Not sure it does. Everyone would ride or die for their Houses.

Is there something wrong about wanting to be both better than someone and being your own person? Isn’t being your own person either aiming to be better than someone or just becoming a name not attached to actions? You don’t really have a choice in the matter as far as I’m concerned.

As long as Binns isn’t your mentor, it might be the only history lesson you’ll get while you’re here. If it is Binns well... that’s nice.

I’m not in the place to talk about whether you should die or not. That’s your own personal decision. But humans have the primal need to stay alive, do or die it’s not a choice. Fight or flight, not fight or fall. If you have a death wish you’re going against your primal nature. 

Sometimes it’s not exactly good to be special.

As far as the Room and the letters are concerned... I was in the room a few days after classes started to do some research. The Room tends to have better suited books for me than the library. Not to mention the library tends to be rather crowded. There’s always at least a dozen Ravenclaws or should-have-been-Ravenclaws hanging around, noses poking where they shouldn’t.

The Room’s a lot more suited for dedicated study for more devoted students.

I know I should be more focused on school studies, not my own extracurriculars (my mother emphasizes that in every letter she sends), but it’s hard to get my attention as of late. Even quidditch trials aren’t as important to me it seems. Everything tends to hang on this project of mine.

Things aren’t as simple as they were in second year, are they?

But as you seem to be content with writing back and forth, I suppose I shall as well, however I must insist on some ground rules of sort:  
\- Do not ask for names, as we’ve both agreed we’re not just magical quills and parchment. Anonymity is essential for my participation.  
\- Do not try to psychoanalyze the other. Merlin knows enough of that happens around this castle without any being voluntary.  
\- I’m willing to listen to you about your ‘problems’ and I’m willing to ‘receive help’ with mine but no schoolwork.  
\- If one of us say to drop a topic, it’s dropped. No questions asked. I’m not gonna be a therapist and press for a ‘reason’ behind your ‘grief’ and I certainly would not continue to exchange letters if you insist for answers.

Feel free to add to these as we go along. Heck, the Room made another bit of parchment appear for me to continue writing, so I’m assuming it believes we should continue. I believe they’re fairly good guidelines. 

Now and forevermore,  
\- No One


	3. Week Three

* * *

Dear No One,

I feel that I should address your proposed guidelines before the content of your letter. I wholeheartedly agree to your condition of anonymity. I doubt anyone would continue writing to me and listening to my complaints if they knew who I was. I would, however, like to expand this guideline a bit: no names of friends or professors (unless it's someone like Dumbledore, because let's face it, he's practically ancient) that could potentially give away our identity. Similar to your “drop it” condition, any kind of potentially identifying question can be ignored. Now that we have taken care of those guidelines, I'll go back to addressing the rest of your letter. 

I don't see how you can have absolutely no regrets from an action. Merlin, nearly everything I do I end up regretting! I end up hurting my friends, my family…

I do have to thank you, I suppose. I'm not sure if it was you or the Room, but a large glass of pumpkin juice was sitting on my normal desk in here. A very pleasant surprise indeed (although I will admit that I checked it for curses, hexes, and poisons first - one can never be too careful). 

Hmm...I see your point about professors also needing to attend classes. Well, damn! I feel like we're in a verbal game of chess, though, which I am finding highly intriguing. From your comment about House pride and mine about self-preservation instincts, I am going to assume that you are in fact a Slytherin. I'll leave it up to you to confirm, refute, or simply ignore that as you see fit. Guidelines, after all. If you decide to address this, I welcome you to guess my House as well. I don't know that I would necessary “ride or die” for my House, as you say. My friends? Maybe. There have been some trying times within my House in the past and some people that I certainly wouldn't mind if they met the wrong end of a basilisk. The ones that I would care about, though, are my true friends. I would defend them at all costs - ride or die, indeed. 

No, I suppose there is nothing wrong with wanting to be better and an individual. In my mind they were two different things. I constantly find myself trying to live up to - or maybe past - the names that people call me. I just want to be normal for once, but people always see me as someone that they think they already know. There are so many expectations, so much pressure…

But you understand all of that, don't you, No One?

I refuse to believe I have no choice in who I become or how I get there. 

“That's nice.” Wow, that was the best you could come up with for Binns? No quips about how although his teaching is just a ghost of its former glory, you're certain he must lend some much-needed transparency to the subject of History of Magic?

No, my mentor is not Binns, thank Merlin! The History I am learning is important, I suppose, just not quite what I was expecting. We shall see what my mentor means for me to get out of all of this. 

I...I really hate to ask this, but am I selfish for not wanting to die? Even when others could be hurt because of me?

I do have to agree that quidditch just doesn't hold my attention quite like it used to. And to think, I used to eat, sleep, and breathe quidditch at my captain’s orders. I wish things were as easy as second year, but then again, I almost died in second year, too. 

Things have never been easy. 

Enough about me. How are you, No One? How has that project been going? Can I offer you moral support in some way?

As always,  
Nobody

* * *

Nobody,

Ironically, have you thought about the fact perhaps you think too much? Regrets bring in future complications, complications bring in problems and problems… well they’re never good. Not to mention if you regret something, you’d never follow through with your initial intentions. 

Whatever you set out to do you chose for a reason. If you regret it you chose wrong to begin with- then you have to wonder why you chose wrong. Merlin. Nobody, rash actions fueled by emotions never did anyone any good.

Perhaps your immense amount of thinking after the fact should be moved towards _before_ the actions so you can go ahead without guilt.

But I’ll stop myself. We’re lingering on the edge of a Guideline.

My pressure is self-inflicted. A masochist, if you will. A masochist with a goal. I didn’t _need_ to take this path. I chose to… at least I think I did. There might have been others that have had some influence but there’s always 2nd and 3rd parties in life. 

Feel free to insert some touchy-feely philosophical nonsense here. But as far as I’m concerned I looked around, determined I’m destined and I’m gonna get there, no matter what.

 

 

 

Please ignore the burn marks on the parchment where I threw my wand in anger. How dare you put a pun on me. On _Binns_ of all people. You disgust me. I genuinely hope you regret that decision, since you’re all about that.

If you’re asking my opinion: not in the way you phrased it. “Others could be hurt”... people can survive a lot. Humans are obnoxiously persistent. Throw them through hell and they’d come back out the other side alive and probably claim it made them better for it.

That’s a lie.

They’re not better, they’re just jaded.

But if your death would save others from death… yes. That would be selfish, wanting to live…  
I might write these sentences close together but trust me when I tell you the candle beside this letter at the time of writing is nearly gone. You get in the ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one’ territory. 

I cannot tell you which of those paths to take.

I know which one I’d choose, but you and I, while similar, aren’t the same. 

You’ll have to be more specific about dying in your second year. Everyone almost dies at Hogwarts at least once a week. Someone I know virtually _lives_ in the hospital wing. 

My project is mine and mine alone.  
I can’t accept help.  
I’m sorry.

I need to go.  
I need


	4. Week Four

Dear No One,

Are you okay? Your letter...I hope you're alright, or at least nothing too bad? I'm a bit worried about you, I'll admit. Perhaps I worry too much, just like you say I overthink things and regret too much and plan too little.

You're probably right on multiple accounts, though. I know you're right about rash actions and their consequences, though. I know that, and I beat myself up about it every day. I killed someone, remember?  I ran in blind without a plan, and he died because of me.

I'm glad you had a say in your destiny; I didn't. As long as you had a choice...that's something, at least. That's a bit of freedom right there. Influence from others is okay - it's how we learn, I suppose.

I admire your determination - you know what you want, whereas I just know what I _don't_  want. I'd much prefer to be in your shoes, I think.

That's about as “touchy-feely” as I'm going to get. Sorry to disappoint you.

You burned your letter over a pun? Really? Seems someone needs to lighten up a bit. To be honest, I'm surprised you didn't just throw my letter in the…

Bin. 

Alright, fine, I'll stop. No need to throw your wand again or burn a hole in the Room. 

The puns, though...that's one decision I definitely don't regret. Your reaction is amusing. 

Anyways...on to the morbid stuff. 

I do appreciate your point of view here. I can't exactly ask people who know me about dying. I'm sure that would be a great conversation. “Hello, Professor. Mind if I ask you a question? Should I feel bad about not wanting to die?” 

They'd probably lock me up in St. Mungo’s.

I think the thing that scares me the most is that I doubt I will have any choice in the end (as if I've had a choice thus far). It will probably be over before I know it. How it will end though? No idea. 

Hmm, how to explain this? I suppose this gets pretty close to a Guideline. I'll try to explain it as best as I can. 

I had the misfortune of going up against a rather venomous snake. The snake almost got the best of me...I still have a scar from where its fang went into my arm. Damn thing was almost as long as my forearm. I'm just lucky that I happened to get on the good side of a phoenix - I have no idea how long it takes ~~ba~~  

Ignore that. The parchment isn't letting me spell away the mistake for some reason, and unlike you, I have enough restraint to not burn the whole letter. 

As I was saying: No idea how long it takes venom to kill a 12-year-old, but I imagine it's not that long. 

As for your project… No need to apologize. I respect that your project is your own. Just know that somebody is rooting for you, even if that somebody is named Nobody. 

Write when you can - like I said, I'm worried.

-Nobody

**Author's Note:**

> There are obviously 3 characters in this fic: Harry, the Room of Requirement and No One. No One is a canon character to be revealed later (tagging them would be SPOILERSSS)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Harry is written by flyingluna@tumblr.com  
> No One is written by sarthefirst@tumblr.com
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
